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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29008341">war and glory, reinvention; fusion, freedom, your attention.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rydellon/pseuds/y9gurt'>y9gurt (rydellon)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Bad Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Canon Compliant, Character Death, Family Dynamics, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, except the comfort is mentioned for 5 seconds and doesnt last, no beta we die like wilbur</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:14:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,319</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29008341</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rydellon/pseuds/y9gurt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>L’Manburg grew up with Cat and Mellohi within its walls, alongside a teenage boy—his little brother—who would protect them with his life, no matter what it would take.</p><p>Wilbur felt like he was looking in a mirror, a mirror that was cracked and warped and dirty but a mirror all the same.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jschlatt &amp; Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot &amp; Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot &amp; Technoblade, Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>111</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>war and glory, reinvention; fusion, freedom, your attention.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hello wrote this with this <a href="https://youtu.be/bk8AGofxauw">it's over isn't it</a> animatic on literal fucking loop for over an hour in class. nice</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>To anyone who’s ever met him, it's very evident that Wilbur Soot loves music. </p><p>From a young age, ever since his father gifted him a guitar from a town they had passed through on his eighth birthday, Wilbur had been fascinated, obsessed even. Fixated on the way he could simply move his fingers and create sound, enraptured by the way he could string melodies with his fingers and create music with a single touch.</p><p>From his love for music came his collection of music discs, some of which he had bought from markets with pocket change and some of which he had gotten after he had discovered that they could be created out in the wild, nights spent placing boats to trap skeleton and slowly but surely attracting creepers to be shot by them.</p><hr/><p>(The first time he had discovered this had been a fluke. He had snuck out to follow Techno after the other had left at night—his twin had a thirst for blood that the 12-year-old couldn't see himself ever matching—and found himself caught in the crossfire of a creeper and a skeleton. The disc he’d gotten from that interaction had the word <em> Mellohi </em>etched into it, and was his most prized possession for many years.)</p><hr/><p>He supposes that his past love of discs was to blame for Tommy’s own love of two specific ones, but then again he had been more calm about his collection when Tommy had been brought into their family, only playing them occasionally instead of every day like he had before. Tommy would have also been too young to remember, but sometimes things like that stick with you. Wilbur would know, since those memories are to this day the best ones of his family.</p><p>Those, and ones that stemmed from them.</p><p>With music came dancing, which Phil had enjoyed pulling his boys into (Wilbur happily, and Techno begrudgingly) whenever there were discs playing. Dancing was more complicated to Wilbur than music, as he had a horrible habit of tripping over his growing limbs. Techno was always a much more coherent dancer, his sword practice translating directly into skill on his feet, dancing around Wilbur while holding onto their father’s other hand.</p><p>A smile on his face, Wilbur could remember. The soft notes of a disc flowing through the house and laughing and smiles and <em> happiness </em>.</p><p>These moments all led up to this one, where Wilbur raises his arms in a mockery of a leading position, one holding an invisible hand and the other wrapped around an invisible waist. </p><p>He could hear the music in his head, a soft piano tune that had never come out of any of Wilbur’s discs but one that he knew all the same, and took a step forward to begin the final dance of his life.</p><p>When Fundy was born he had played a disc, full of enough glee and delight to pull one out of the fraction of his collection he had brought with him when he had left home. He had Fundy and himself and their house beside the riverbank. Twirling softly with his newborn daughter in his arms, careful steps so as to not trip and cause something he couldn’t take back.</p><hr/><p>(He had left his collection in that house when he’d moved out, as well as the rest of the memories created there. He didn’t like thinking of them, or the disc he’d played in that moment. Silly games and childish laughter gave way to Wilbur travelling with his toddler son for months on end. The place they settled down turned out to not be much better than the one they’d left.)</p><hr/><p>Tommy and his discs had been a staple in the Dream Smp even before Wilbur had established his new country.</p><p>L’Manburg grew up with Cat and Mellohi within its walls, alongside a teenage boy—his little brother—who would protect them with his life, no matter what it would take.</p><p>Wilbur felt like he was looking in a mirror.</p><hr/><p>(A mirror that was cracked and warped and dirty but a mirror all the same. Wilbur was not Tommy but Tommy was Wilbur, and Wilbur didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. Sometimes he wishes he stayed at home, because if Tommy had actually spent years growing up with him instead of hearing stories from phil then maybe Wilbur could find it in himself to feel bad that the boy gave up his discs for a country that would never be his. </p><p>But he wasn’t, and so Wilbur threw stones at the mirror he saw, and cracked it beyond repair.)</p><hr/><p><em> I should’ve seen Schlatt coming </em> is a thought that spirals in his brain for hours and hours upon end, repeating until he can feel his brain start to devolve, until he asks dream for TNT, until he yells at Tommy for things that should have stayed inside Wilbur’s brain, snuffed out like the fires that once filled him while dancing in the middle of the kitchen with his father and brother.</p><p>He didn’t want to see Technoblade in this fucking server, he didn’t want to look the twin who actually knew Tommy in the eye after he got a glimpse at their youngest brother. He didn’t want any other cavalry to be called, because despite the letters that are somewhere in the fucking world or burnt because he didn’t like them, their father would only ever be at the beck and call of one of them, and this time if Wilbur got in trouble there was nowhere to run.</p><p>Wilbur had met Schlatt that first time, young and ever so stupid and bawling his eyes out every other day because of the gnawing hunger in his stomach and the gnawing guilt in his chest. Legs burnt and tired from sprinting away from his problems instead of facing them head on. Schlatt was a breath of fresh air in a world that screamed at Wilbur that he couldn’t have anything nice without breaking it, even though he had this bad habit of dangling one of Wilbur’s discs over any large drop he could see.</p><p>Schlatt would do anything it took to get his way, and Wilbur learnt this in dark nights full of music and alcohol and feet that would step on each other under the deep dark influence of a bottle of alcohol.</p><p>He learnt the hard lessons of the world with Schlatt by his side until the other left for a project with the <em> angel of death </em> himself, as the other had put it. His father had earned that name on Wilbur’s land and every time Wilbur heard it he wanted to run, and so he did.</p><p>Losing friends was not something Wilbur was unfamiliar with, and watching as people take things away from him isn’t an anomaly either. </p><p>Wilbur isn’t being selfish by taking things away as well, because the amalgamation of things that have been taken by other people isn’t equal to him taking the country he built away from himself. The scales of judgement will still be weighed in his favour after the last note rings out, and Wilbur is very aware of this as he looks his father in the eye and tells him to stab him.</p><p>For the first time in his life Wilbur’s father pays more attention to him than his darling son Technoblade, and Wilbur takes another step forward.</p><p>And another, and another, and another. The music in his head swells to a crescendo as he dips, his father’s hand filling in the space of the empty one from seconds before, dipping him like Wilbur was 13. Wilbur could practically smell soup on the stove, and when he tried to laugh he only coughed up blood.</p><p>The piano faded out, and Wilbur felt his hand get transferred to the hard, cold embrace of death.</p><p>He danced happily towards it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hey im so cool you should follow me on <a href="https://twitter.com/y9gurt">twitter</a><br/><a></a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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